


Nights on the Round Table

by SomewhereApart



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Camelot, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16948536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: Robin and Regina have a midnight rendezvous at the Round Table





	Nights on the Round Table

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: regina, robin. camelot. sex in public. they have to stay quiet so they don't get caught.

It’s the middle of the night. The absolute middle of the night.

The castle is empty, near-silent, and they should _not_ under any circumstances be doing this. But they are.

He’d woken from a nightmare, Regina’s hands on him turning to Marian’s and then to Zelena’s, her cackle echoing in his mind as he’d startled awake to find Regina curled on her side of the bed, sniffling and insisting in a voice that rasped how she didn’t want to talk about it. He’d wondered if it was Emma, or her Mother, or the King. The latter two had set her haunting the halls of her castle more often than he knows she’d like to admit during the year they’d spent there.

Messes, both of them. Chipped and cracked despite their best efforts, and the still dark of the room had done them no favors. So they’d gone for a walk.

A slow traverse of the halls, meeting the occasional night guard as they passed, but little else.

It had helped, some, but there’d still been an air of tension, of nerves, of _wrongness_ , until they’d passed the great chamber with it’s round table and Regina had paused.

“What is it, love?” he’d asked her softly, his voice seeming to echo amongst the tall stones.

She’d smiled at him then, really and truly, an impish sort of smirk and a light in her eyes as she’d pulled him close and murmured, “Do you want to do something very, very inappropriate?”

Oh. Well then.

Robin’s lips had curved into a smirk of their own, his hand abandoning hers to find the curves of her hips. “What did you have in mind, milady?”

She’d glanced backward, through the wide open doors to the Round Table and then back at him. “I think we could both use a good distraction tonight. So…” She steps closer, so close he can smell the faded wisp of the perfumed oils she’d slathered on that morning, “Why don’t you take me on the Round Table, and we’ll see if we can manage not to scandalize any of the King’s guard in the process?”

And, well, who was he to say no to such a challenge? Especially when she’s right – they both need to clear their heads of unwanted ghosts, and what better way to do that than to lose themselves in each other?

So here they are. Her perched on the edge of King Arthur’s Round Table, her mouth hot and damp against his as he works his fingers in and out of her in a way that thins her breath and has soft gasps sounding in her throat. Her own hands are busy with the laces of his trousers, nimbly unfastening them as he abandons her mouth to suck kisses just behind her ear. It draws a shiver from her and he grins, then moans quietly when she finally frees her prize and wraps warm hands around his cock.

“Shh,” she hisses warningly in his ear, and he buries his mouth in the join of shoulder and neck to muffle himself, his nose full of the scent of her hair, her skin, the lingering smell of sleep and a fresh bloom of sweat.

When his fingers shift ever so slightly a moment later, though, it’s she who cries out, her head tipping back on an unexpected “oh!” and it’s Robin’s turn to shush her through a snicker, his mouth finding hers to dampen her cries as he works his hand faster, faster. Until she begins to tremble, her mouth sloppy and rough against his, her fingers gripping his arms now, nails digging into his biceps. Her foot jerks, knocking into a chair and sending it skidding an inch with a heavy scrape, but he doesn’t stop, can’t, because she’s coming, huffing out heavy, whimpered breaths against his mouth as her hips twitch, her heat snug and slick around his fingers as he draws her pleasure out and out and out.

He ceases, finally, and she breaks from him with a gasp that turns quickly into heavy, panted breaths, and Robin grins, all ghosts forgotten now, nightmarish images the furthest thing from his mind as she murmurs in a husky voice that makes him want to kneel down and worship her (parts of her in particular), “Inside me. Now.”

“Are you sure you can keep quiet?” he taunts, his voice low out of both necessity and desire, but it’s an empty query, he’s already stepping into the cradle of her thighs, pushing her dress higher, up to her hips, tugging them to the very edge of the table.

“I can if you can,” she breathes in challenge, and he’s about to tell her that he wasn’t the one making all the racket moments ago, but then he’s sinking into her, and she’s heaven, bliss, the beginning and the end and all that, and he thinks perhaps he’d best not taunt in the face of such glory.

So all he says is, “I want to see you,” as he leans in, forward, kisses her deeply before guiding her back down to the smooth wood of the table. And heaven above, what a sight she is. Regina, his Regina, spread willing before him on the bloody Round Table, red velvet rumpled across her belly, honeyed thighs wrapped around his hips, her hair a dark halo of silk around her smiling face, and then he thrusts, once, and that smile slips, her jaw dropping on a soft exhale, and she’s all pleasure, and all his, and he wishes suddenly they were back in bed so he could hear every lovely note and chord of ecstasy he’s about to draw out of her.

But they’re not, and he can’t, and how many chances does one have to take a woman in the middle of the court of Camelot, and so he focuses on that, instead, tells himself he will do the other later, once they’ve returned to their chambers for the night. For now, he will thrust again, and again, setting an easy rhythm and delighting in the way Regina claps a hand across her mouth to muffle her soft _oh_ , and gods, he knows the feeling…

He leans forward a bit, hooking her thighs over his elbows as he goes and bearing into her with sharper raps, deeper strokes, and that hand over her mouth squeezes as her eyes roll, lashes fluttering, before they squeeze shut.

“Does this please you, milady?” he gasps softly into the air between them, a formal and needless question that she answers with a frantic nod of her head and a muffled whimper. He cannot take his eyes off her, even as they want to close with his own mounting pleasure he watches her, gauges her, drinks in the way she writhes. He could finish them both quickly, he thinks, can feel the insistent churning of pleasure low in his own belly as she comes more and more undone, but it would require a quicker pace, one then would lend itself to the unmistakable smack of flesh on flesh, and if they were found doing this it would be offensive to the crown to say the least.

So he doesn’t take take her faster, doesn’t dare increase the intensity of their coupling. Instead he shifts one hand from where it had been braced on the table top and finds her clit with his thumb, the action hiking her hip higher and sending her back arching at the new sensation. He rubs swiftly, and hard, and she kicks at him, shakes her head frantically, dropping her hand only to gasp, “I can’t,” and “too loud,” she’s right on the verge, he realizes, closer than even he’d thought.

So Robin gives her one last slow stroke and then moves his hand back to the table, bending over her until he can reach her mouth again and kiss and kiss her, finally giving in to that swift, hard rhythm, his body grinding into hers with each thrust. Regina gasps, and then clutches, tipping her head up and biting into the linen of his shirt, her teeth dull against his shoulder but her bite hard as she groans and scrabbles at the back of his shirt and comes again.

Robin listens to her, every strangled sound of ecstasy, feels the desperation in her hands against him, the snug bliss of her around his cock, and when he spills into her, his moan is buried in her shoulder.

They go still, but not quite silent, their breaths heavy and labored, and then jolting with quiet laughter, the both of them. He lifts his head and grins down at her, this living goddess he’s so lucky to have in his arms, in his life, despite everything he’s done, and she’s done. Despite all their trials, here they are, rutting on a table in bloody Camelot in the dark of night, just to prove they can.

For the first time in weeks, his heart is light, full simply of her, and them, and this moment.

And then they hear the telltale echo of distant footsteps in the hall, and Regina’s eyes pop wide, her lips still drawn into a devious smirk.

By the time the night guard reaches them, they’re redressed, if a bit rumpled, the table feet away from them as they stare up at a painting on the wall nearby, feigning innocence and insomnia.

And if they break into giggles just a soon as he’s passed, well, they’ve earned a bit of levity, now haven’t they?


End file.
